Trail of Dragons
by Penguin
Summary: H/D slash ficlet kind of thing. Someone is playing a game with Harry, and he follows a trail of dragons. *Chapter added*
1. Trail of Dragons

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters. I only own the writing.

Warning: Implied male/male slash. Don't like it? Please disapparate.

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed Nymphaëa – hope you're reading this, too. See note at the end.

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TRAIL OF DRAGONS

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Harry put down his quill, rolled up the parchment and rubbed his tired eyes. That assignment had been gnawing at him for the past week and, as usual, he had left it to the very last minute to finish it. But now it was done, and it wasn't a bad job, either. He stretched and yawned, quite pleased with himself even if it was one o'clock in the morning and he wouldn't get as much sleep as he needed.

He pointed his wand to turn out the lights, and the Gryffindor common room was dark and quiet, only the warm flickering light from the fire dancing over the walls. Harry got up from his chair and collected his things. He was about to head for the stairs when he heard a very small, clear voice say: "Harry. Harry Potter."

He started and looked around. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary in the room, nothing moving. "Yes?"

"Harry. Look for the dragons."

His eyes caught a small movement on the back rest of one of the deep armchairs by the fireplace, and he went over to look. It was the tiniest dragon, perhaps three inches long from nose to tip of tail, shimmering in red and gold, folding its wings along its back and sitting down on its haunches, wrapping its tail neatly around itself in an almost feline fashion. It looked up at him with unblinking, bright yellow eyes, pupils like black vertical slits. It almost seemed to smile. Thin, white trails of smoke emerged from the minuscule nostrils.

"Follow the dragons!" it said, the small voice astonishingly imperious. And then the yellow eyes glazed over as the tiny form froze in its movements, and the little dragon turned into solid gold and ruby.

Harry picked it up and turned it over in his hand. No stirring motion there, no heat, not even a flicker of the tail. It was only a small, exquisite piece of jeweller's work, heavy and cool in his palm. Follow the dragons? His eyes wandered around the room. He saw something moving below the portrait hole, swinging lightly like a pendulum, and he went across to it. It was a chain with a dragon pendant, gently swinging as from an invisible hook. As he lifted it off the hook, the portrait swung open. He started in apprehension, expecting someone to enter, but nothing happened. It couldn't be someone with an Invisibility cloak, either; that person would have collided headlong with him. So… did that mean he should climb out? 

He did. He stood for a moment in the chilly corridor and looked around cautiously, stuffing the chain and the golden dragon into the pocket of his jeans underneath his robes. At the top of the stairs, he saw another small object, and went to pick it up. It was a piece of parchment, folded twice and sealed, the stamp on the dark red wax depicting an intricately shaped dragon. Harry traced a finger over it thoughtfully and broke the seal. The block letters were neat and square, bold and orderly at the same time, written in green ink.
    
    "Down the stairs and up again.
    Stars can show what words can't say.
    Towers reach into the sky.
    Dragon fire leads the way."

__

Stars can show what words can't say... Harry stared at the piece of parchment, his face and ears hot. Knowing what the Astronomy Tower was usually used for, except watching stars, he felt both relieved and uneasy. At least it was no sinister quest this time. A challenge, perhaps, but of a new kind. It certainly wouldn't be Voldemort waiting for him in the Astronomy Tower. The things that this mysterious person would want to do to him would be a far cry from anything that Voldemort had thought up for him. An amused smile began to sparkle in Harry's eyes as he ran down the stairs, confident enough of its tricks now to take two steps at a time. The wizarding world parodied itself sometimes, he thought. In the wizarding world, you couldn't follow anything as prosaic as a trail of pebbles or breadcrumbs. No, it had to be a trail of dragons. He laughed and wondered if whoever was waiting for him was a Muggle, or did Muggle studies, and knew the tale. 

At the bottom of the winding stairs leading up to the Astronomy Tower he found another dragon, a bookmark this time; a thin, flat oblong of some heavy, smooth, pale material, like ivory. It was an exquisite thing, like the others he had picked up. Both sides had a dragon painted on it, one red, one green, and they were the work of a master hand. Fine, serpentine lines curving, curling, feathering, flowing; parting and meeting again to fulfil their intention. The colours rich and deep, glowing faintly in the dim light. There were several people here who had the financial means to own objects like this, but Harry only knew of one who would truly appreciate their aesthetical value. A small shiver went through him as realisation hit. Dragons. Of course. But… could it really be….? Was it possible that the person waiting for him was…? But he just needed to look down at the bookmark in his hand to know. Know that it was not only possible, but likely. And his heart suddenly struggled like a wild, frantic bird trying to escape the restraining cage of his ribs.

* * *

In a small room with high narrow windows in the Astronomy Tower, Draco was curled up on the window seat. His face was turned towards the window although it was too dark for him to see anything. He didn't even notice. His mind was following the dragon trail from the Gryffindor common room, down the stairs, up the stairs… Object Placement spells were useful and very interesting, but students were not allowed to use them at Hogwarts. He had decided to run the risk of being caught tonight and used them anyway. They hadn't started on that kind of spells in Charms yet; it wouldn't be until later this term. That silly old git Flitwick seemed to think it was a too dangerous practice for students below the sixth year. Well, it probably could be dangerous unless you mastered the art as fully as Draco did. His father had taught it to him when he was only a child, well before he came to Hogwarts, and he had practised and perfected his skills, as he did with most things. There wasn't much that was worth having or doing if it was less than perfect.

He frowned. The person who was on his way here, following the trail of dragons, wasn't perfect by any standards, certainly not by Draco's own. It annoyed him, and it scared him a little, to find himself attracted to that kind of imperfection. To someone who didn't even seem to _care_ about perfection. _But_, he thought, _it might just be because I have an eye for potential_. The material was excellent even if the finish wasn't. Harry could _become_ perfect, given time. Given Draco's willing guidance. 

He smiled to himself, thinking about the green eyes – _they_ were perfect, at least – and the way they had sparkled yesterday as Harry had made an unusually clever, insinuating little joke that Draco had overheard, and been thrilled. Well, overheard was a euphemism. To be frank he had been eavesdropping, curious about what kind of conversations Harry had with the Weasel. He had been surprised at the warm, easy tone between them, both affectionate and completely relaxed. It had been a conversation between two people who knew each other so well there was no need for them to voice everything; they could skip whole parts and several logical steps of the conversation and still understand, knowing each other's mind so well they could read between very scanty lines.

Draco had never known anybody that well, and until recently he hadn't known he wanted to. He frowned again. It was disturbing to keep finding unwelcome needs and wishes in yourself, and it seemed that Harry was doing that to him all the time. Like the undignified need to hide under the stands to watch him fly, watch the incredibly sure and smooth turns and twists and the quick, precise swoops; to watch the intensity in his face, the excitement and the sensual pleasure. Like the wish to have that intensity directed at himself. Like the need to watch in fascination as the pink tip of Harry's tongue showed between his lips when he concentrated hard on something. Like the wish to pry that mouth open with his own tongue and invade it, force it to welcome him.

Draco shuddered and then tensed as he heard footsteps slow down and stop outside the door. He turned his head towards the room and waited.

* * *

Harry found the next dragon on a ledge at the landing. It was a small piece of parchment with a rough, minute drawing in green ink of a sleeping dragon, curled protectively around another sleeping form drawn in red ink, not very well executed but suggestive of a lion. Harry stared at the drawing and his hand began to shake so badly the picture blurred. _He must know the tale. It can't be coincidence. I'm not starved for food, but I'm starved for love. He knows it._ Harry pocketed the drawing and looked around the dimly lit corridor. There were three heavy oak doors on either side of it, and at the far end, narrow stairs lead up to the observatory itself. He walked hesitantly towards it.

Something glittered on the floor by the last door to the right. Harry picked it up. It was a beautifully worked piece of silver, small and delicate; the dragon's emerald eyes looking almost coyly up into his own, green flashing into green. Harry turned it over in his hand, marvelling at the exquisitely formed scales, the jagged ridge along the back and the tiny claws pricking his skin like fine, sharp needles. He looked from the lovely little dragon to the forbidding door and back again. Green and silver… And for a split second he could have sworn the dragon winked at him.

This must be the end of the trail. So… now he only had to open the door to see if he had been right. He took a deep breath, and another, to try to calm the nervous, anticipatory heat that began to spread through his body and made his heart beat erratically and so loud he thought it would wake up the entire castle. Yes, this was the end of the trail, and he only had to open the door to find… well, hopefully not the wicked witch. What he wanted was the wicked wizard. 

He grinned to himself as he closed one hand around the silver dragon and lifted the other to turn the doorknob.

~ END ~

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A/N: Love to all who reviewed Nymphaëa! HoshiShoujoKageShinigamiBUNNYB (whew!), bosch, Remy, EuropaMoon, ebony, thanks so much. Special thanks to dramaqueen, you're my most faithful reviewer. chrisseee667, so glad you thought it was like poetry. lady drea, thank you – I do write other things than fanfic! Girlie-O, you know, I never even _thought _of that LOTR allusion? I've read LOTR a hundred times and I absolutely love that scene, so I'm sure it was lurking at the back of my mind. Thanks for pointing it out to oblivious!Penguin. : ) darklites, love you as always; gush all you want! Altricial, "like a dream", huh. *blush* Don't know what to say except you're a gem.


	2. To Have, To Keep

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns the characters. I only own the writing.

Warning: Male/male slash. Don't like it? Please disapparate. 

A/N: Love to all reviewers! This chapter is for Altricial, megan, darklites and Psykiapa, who asked for a sequel. Ulrika, I want a three-inch talking dragon, too! : )

Title: Trail of Dragons

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Ch2: To Have, To Keep

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Harry clutched the little silver dragon in his hand as he opened the heavy oak door. He half expected it to creak, like in a bad suspense movie, but it swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. The room was small, with a very high ceiling and a slate-flagged floor. Two high, pointed windows, like half-transparent posters glued on to the darkness outside, reflected subdued light and the slim back and sleek blond head of Draco Malfoy, who sat on the window seat, dangling long legs. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved, body-hugging black top; robes in a bundle beside him. Harry froze and wondered how fast your heart could beat without seriously damaging your health. Heat rushed painfully through his veins with each slamming stroke. He had never seen Draco look so absolutely, serenely beautiful; his face faintly golden in the soft light, his eyes like distant stars. He might be the wicked wizard, but he looked like a Botticelli angel.

When Harry entered the room Draco drew a sharp breath and found he couldn't exhale. So he held his breath while his eyes drank in the flushed face, high cheekbones, full mouth, eyes so solemn, fire burning in them, deep down. _But he **is** perfect. Why haven't I seen it before?_ Harry's left hand was balled up in a fist, clutching something that must be the silver dragon. It was Draco's most treasured belonging. It wasn't the most valuable object he owned, or the most skilfully crafted one, but he had a soft spot for it. He wasn't entirely sure why. Simply because it was beautiful and he liked beautiful things? Because it had emerald eyes, so startlingly like the eyes he was staring into this very moment…? Or because he saw it as a symbol of himself? The silver dragon wasn't the last object in the trail by coincidence. Draco felt he had placed himself on the floor for Harry to miss, or step on, or pick up. Now Harry was holding him in the palm of his hand and could do with him whatever he wanted. He could throw him away, forget him, destroy him… or keep him and protect him. And Draco could only wait.

When he could breathe again, he lifted his chin and said: "Curfew, Potter. You're breaking school rules."

The green eyes widened and sparks of amusement began to fly like fireworks in them.

"I'm not the only one," Harry said, and the soft challenge in his voice made the hairs on Draco's arms stand up. "I'd say you've broken a few more than I have. If I'm not mistaken, you used OP spells."

The faintest smile appeared at the corners of Draco's mouth. He was pleased, both that Harry should know about Object Placement spells and that he actually recognized them when he saw them at work.

"Action linked OP spells – that's very advanced magic," Harry was saying. "I'm impressed, Malfoy." He paused, eyeing Draco. "Not so sure I'm impressed by your intelligence, though. You _are_ aware that I could go to Dumbledore…? And that this would be enough to get you expelled…?"

Draco struggled not to let his expression change, not to let that shadow of a smile die on his lips. This was unexpected. He had expected a puzzled Harry, nervous perhaps, blushing and unsure about himself and about the situation. Certainly not this confident, relaxed-looking Harry, eyes glittering with challenge and amusement, voice soft but with a jagged edge that cut Draco to the bone.

"But you wouldn't do that," he said glibly. "Not you. Not the noble Harry Potter."

"Oh yes, I would. Believe me. I'd do it this minute if I thought I stood to gain something from it."

"Well, don't you? Think about it. Wouldn't it be a nice trophy for your collection? And so easily won, too. Wouldn't you just love to humiliate the powerful Malfoy family with a simple, mean little act like that?" Draco's voice was smooth as butter. "Anyway, I don't see how you could possibly get me expelled. You have absolutely no proof."

Harry smiled, a smile that made Draco feel he would have preferred to be punched in the face. "Surely you must know about Reversing spells?"

Draco's heart sank, but his expression didn't change.

"Dumbledore would confiscate your wand and be able to see for himself exactly what you did."

Draco's heart sank even lower. Harry was holding the silver dragon with his fingertips now, ready to drop it to the floor and put his heel on it.

"And, considering all the times you've tried to get _me_ into trouble… well. You'll have to admit you'd only get what you deserve."

Draco's heart went cold.

"However… " Harry said, fingers playing with the silver dragon. "I don't see what I'd gain from it. The satisfaction of seeing your expression... hmmm… " Pretending to consider. "Naah, not worth it. No, Malfoy, I think it's more fun having you here so I can insult you to your face." He tossed the dragon into the air and caught it again with the graceful confidence of the Seeker.

Draco's heart soared on new-found wings. He wanted to laugh, and he hated Harry for making him feel pleased when he was being humiliated. But his face still didn't show anything at all. Harry fished the pendant, the golden dragon, and the bookmark out of his jeans pocket, crossed the room and held them out to Draco together with the silver dragon. Draco took them without a word. A wave of heat washed through him as he felt them in his palm, warm from Harry's body. His fingers closed instinctively around them to hold on to that warmth. A caress by proxy.

"Can I keep the drawing?" Harry asked in a low voice.

Draco's face went hot. Harry asking to keep something of his, something he had made, felt… intimate. He nodded, slid down from the window seat and held out the silver dragon to Harry. 

"Here," he said. "I'd like you to keep this, too."

When Harry didn't move, Draco reached out and took his hand. He turned the palm upwards, placed the little dragon in it, and closed Harry's fingers around it. He didn't remove his own hand. They both looked down at the soft knot of their hands, one curled around the other, like the dragon and the lion in the drawing. The warmth from Harry's hand was spreading up Draco's arm. "It's the Slytherin colours," he said. He didn't want to phrase it any clearer than that.

"I noticed," Harry said, his voice not quite steady. "I thought that was a nice touch – the trail starting with the Gryffindor colours and me, and ending with the Slytherin ones and you."

Draco smiled, delighted that Harry should have noticed a small point like that, and even more delighted with his description of it. Smile met smile and their eyes locked.

"Do you mean it? That I should keep it? It must be valuable."

"I'd like you to have it. If you want it."

"Thank you. It's – it's beautiful."

They both blushed, almost shy now, aware of the significance of this gift and this acceptance. Stillness closed around them, sank softly to the floor. It was so quiet they imagined they could hear each other's thoughts, filling the room with barely audible whispers. Draco adjusted his hand around Harry's, moved his thumb lightly over Harry's fingers. He felt Harry try not to shiver. 

"But maybe you won't need it…?" Draco whispered, like a caress, his face very close to Harry's now. This time, Harry did shiver, but he didn't back away. "I mean…" Draco lifted his free hand and ran a fingertip oh so lightly down Harry's cheek. "…now that you have the real dragon."

Harry's intake of breath was the most gratifying sound he had ever heard, and he decided to take it as an invitation. He closed the remaining space between them, leaned in to touch Harry's lips with his own. And Harry responded. Their mouths had been waiting for each other all their lives. Their lips knew each other already. They knew the minute adjustments needed for them to fit perfectly; they knew exactly when to part and allow tongues to meet.

Draco had dreamed of prying Harry's lips open, of letting his tongue force its way into the other boy's mouth, but now he felt faint with the realisation that force was unnecessary. Harry read his intention and opened up for him – willingly, eagerly, not at all passive like in Draco's dreams. The dreams were already dissolving and giving way to this sweet reality.

When Draco felt Harry's free hand reach around his waist to pull him closer, a sound like a whimper escaped him. He tensed and wondered for a fraction of a second if he should feel embarrassed, but then he registered the reaction in the other boy. It was as if that small sound shifted the focus of their kiss and turned the gentleness into something else, something darker and more insistent. Their breathing quickened as hands explored, as tongues went deeper into moist cavities and teeth began to insist on biting lips. And then there was a soft moan from Harry, too; a moan that nudged Draco close to the edge of insanity. They either had to stop or he would give in to the hot urge unfolding inside him – and he couldn't imagine where they would end up if he did.

He withdrew and they stood staring at each other, both of them breathing hard. With a narrow buffer of air between them, Draco regained his senses. He never wanted to hurt the lovely face in front of him, this flushed young face with eyes bold and frightened. Never hurt. Never scare. Only adore. He pulled the other boy to him again, held him, hot faces just touching.

"I could… get used to this," Harry mumbled into Draco's hair.

Draco laughed shakily. "Even you should be able to come up with a better line than that, Potter, " he breathed.

Harry's responding laugh was the softest thing he'd ever heard. "Never fancied a career as a dragon tamer," Harry said. "But I suppose I could give it a try."

"Don't bother. Dragons can't be tamed."

"Unless they want to."

Draco shivered, and he had never known a shiver could feel so wonderful. It was as if every sensation reinvented itself with Harry; everything was new and as yet undiscovered, and he would have to re-evaluate all he had ever known.

"Yes, unless they want to."

"Do you happen to know how dragons react to a little persuasion…?"

Draco leaned back so he could see Harry's eyes, and his own eyes widened at what they saw there. "I think…" he said in a half-whisper. "I think they're really very susceptible to persuasion."

The perfectionist in him, the lover of true beauty, would be at peace tonight. This very moment, he felt they had reached perfection. It might not last, but perfection had nothing to do with constancy or durability. And perfection like this, if only for a moment, was more than most people would ever experience.

~ end ~


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